The Last Day Dawns
by Fatouma
Summary: Cullen is confronted with his deepest fears. Spoilers for Dragon Age:Inquisition possible. One-shot. Rated M for a reason.


_Disclaimer: Dragon Age:Inquisition is owned by BioWare. No copyright infringement intended._

**The Last Day Dawns**

It should have been a cheerful morning. The morning of a day just right for celebrating a huge victory feast. After all, they won - didn't they? Cullen squared his shoulders and stared towards the eastern horizon where a faint streak of blood stained the sky, ripping open the dark night like a sword cut. He drew a hitched breath, tried to concentrate on that first light of a new day, tried to forget that image that had etched itself into his mind forever. Tried to forget that though he survived the battle, his life had just ended a few hours ago.

He and his men had fought Corypheus's dragon, a gigantic, frightening beast filled to the rim with the pure, sickly red evil of its master. With a sweep of its huge tail it had brushed half of Cullen's bataillon out of the way, had sent his soldiers flying through the air for a hard and painful landing. Yet they all had stood up and run back to attack again. And again. And again. He had felt so proud of them, and when the dragon had finally fallen, a multi-voiced cry of victory had filled the cool night air.

And that had been the moment he had seen _her_. His Thari. The Lady Trevelyan. Leader of the Inquisition. Herald of Andraste. Whatever people called her. For him, she simply was the light of his life, owner of his heart and soul, his very reason of existence. During the days before the battle he had warned her, not just once, no - a thousand times, or so it seemed to him. _Try to distract him, but do not attack Corypheus alone. Wait for our elite troups to strike down the dragon, then we'll deal with him together._ And yet, there she had stood, high on top of a giant rock, backed up only by a handful of mages, throwing spell after spell at that mad, hideous creature that once had been a magister from Tevinter and now intended to become a god.

Cullen had stood there, horrified, gaping at that vision, transfixed with a sudden fear that turned his bones to ice. Precious seconds were lost before he had been able to move again. "FOLLOW ME!", he then had yelled to his soldiers, waving his bloodstained sword to call the cheering men to action. He had run towards her, eyes and lungs burning from the arcane sizzling that had filled the air and from the smoking fires that consumed the flesh of the fallen, men and demons alike. Then, the image of his love and the world's arch enemy suddenly levitating thirty feet up into the air, surrounded by the lush green magic light emanating from the mark on her hand, had again made him stop dead in his tracks. He had seen how she threw the magic globe of green fire that emerged from her hands against the blighted darkspawn mage who countered it with an ice spell so mighty that everyone - Cullen and his soldiers, the mages, the horses - froze for a moment in a deadly embrace of icy cold. And then Cullen had seen the globe explode, painting the night green in a blinding flash, the impact of the energy causing Corypheus to drop down to the ground... and her along with him.

When Cullen had found his strength once more, he had taken up his frantic race again, shouting over his shoulder towards his lieutenant behind him: "Hurry! Make sure he's dead! Chop off his head and bring it to me!"

He had run at maximum speed, yet it had felt as if he moved through a lake of tar that pulled at his legs and slowed him down. By the time he had finally reached her, she had been surrounded by a group of mages, led by Fiona. Vivienne had been there too, as well as Dorian, the beautiful face of the young Tevinter mage grave with sorrow, all his natural cockiness gone from his features. Cullen had shoved them aside, and when he saw her, lying on the ground, her chest armor burnt by the enormous outburst of arcane energy that Corypheus had let loose, the angle of her neck slightly twisted and her head amidst a pool of blood, he had felt his heart break to pieces. Unable to believe what had happened he had dropped down on his knees, picked her up with trembling hands and carefully pulled her body onto his lap. He had placed her head against his shoulder gently, kissed her brow, her closed eyes, whispered her name and words of love and pain she would never hear.

Then he had looked up to Fiona and the other mages who were watching him with so much compassion in their faces that it frightened him. Suddenly, he had felt deadly cold. "She is just... unconscious... isn't she? You... can heal her. Right? You can heal her?", he pleaded, his voice thin and full of desperation.

He had had the faint feeling that the night and all its deadly dark creatures closed in around him, cornered him in cold menace while he had waited for Fiona's reply. Time had stretched unbearably, seconds becoming minutes, then hours, then eons. Finally, the old elf mage had shaken her head slightly, and while the shards of his heart froze to ice and his soul died in slow agony, he had seen tears glistening in her eyes.

"I am so sorry, Commander... when she fell down from that height her head hit a boulder. It broke her neck and her skull. No..." - her voice cracked - "no mage can heal a broken neck. Nobody can."

Cullen didn't remember how he came to sit beside the coachman of the cart, one of the few that hadn't been burned down during the battle. Just like everyone else, the two draft horses were weary and could barely lift their legs. Wheels creaked and the whole vehicle swayed from left to right frighteningly, but he ignored that, just like he didn't care about the stench of blood and ripped intestines that clung to him like a rotting cloak. Nothing mattered to him but the lifeless weight of Thari's body in his arms, growing colder by the minute. His lips lingered on her forehead, never leaving her chilly skin while he choked back the tears. If he allowed them to flow now, he knew they never would stop again. He would never let her go... and yet he knew that the time for the last goodbye was near.

When they finally reached Skyhold, a cheering crowd of people greeted them - other surviving soldiers had been faster and had spread the news of their victory. Obviously they hadn't told them that their triumph had come at high cost. Forcing his weak and tired legs to move, Cullen got down from the cart, and with slow steps he carried his love through the crowd that dropped into sudden silence at the sight of them. The first radiant beams of sunlight set her rich auburn mane on fire and caressed Cullen's dark golden hair, letting it shine like polished brass. But his handsome face was hard and grey like pale marble, eyes red with unshed tears when he carried her through the parting crowd, up the stairs to the keep's great hall. Workmen hurried ahead, deadly silent in their horror about the events of the night, shoved the Inquisitor's throne out of the way, cleared a huge table and placed it under the beautiful glass window for their Herald to rest.

Upon laying her down gently, Cullen stroked her hair one last time, gently tidied the long strands and braids as well as her robe, kissed her cold lips farewell. No stains from the battle marred her beloved face, her eyes were closed and her thick long lashes threw purple shadows on her high cheekbones. Her pale skin seemed alive again by the early morning light that shone through the yellow and orange glass motifs of the huge window. She looked as if she was asleep, peaceful, without pain, even happy. His fists clenched without him even noticing. _Maker, why?_, he raged inwardly. _Why her? How could you..._

.

.

.

.

.

"Cullen! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

He shot up, opening his eyes to the dark room, for a moment every sense of orientation had left him. Dazed and confused, still in the relentless grasp of the nightmare, he realized that Thari held him by the shoulders. She was... she was here. Not dead and cold and...

"You've had a bad dream", she said softly while she lit the little oil lamp on her bedside table with a slight wave of her fingers. "Sshhhh. Calm down. All is well now." She gave him a wry smile that barely concealed her worry, then nestled into his arms, her forehead against his. "What did you dream? It must have been worse than usual... you've hit me in the face, you know."

"Maker... I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?", he asked when he found his voice again, still caught in the black sorrow and despair that had haunted his sleep.

"No", she replied, her eyes never leaving his, studying him worriedly. "Tell me about your dream, won't you?"

"I... I can't say. The details are... gone already", he lied. How could he tell her he dreamt of her death? Gloom and fear still filled him and he was shaking to his very bones, and yet he felt blessed - after all, she was still _here_, here in his arms, alive and well, the unspeakable had not happened... at least not yet. He buried his face in the unruly mass of her silky hair, deeply inhaling the sweet scent of her body. Her hands began to caress him, soothe him. Soft fingertips ghosted along the smooth skin of his flanks, over the raised muscles of his shoulders and his back, then down his spine, tickling him, making him twitch and smile. And rock-hard.

"What time is it", he whispered in her ear.

He felt her shift slightly in his arms when she glanced towards the large Orlesian glass windows. "It's still dark... an hour 'til dawn, I think. Today's the day! Finally!", she said with excitement in this low, smoky voice of hers that he loved so much, that had him nearly come undone when she just read one of her travelling reports to him. She beamed at him, white teeth behind soft lips shimmering in the dim golden light of the oil lamp. "Today we'll finally strike. We'll take this bastard down! But 'til it starts we have some time left... maybe you've got an idea what we could do with an hour alone? Just you and me in this luxurious..." He cut her words short by claiming her mouth in a vigorous kiss. Oh, the taste of her... strawberries, honey, summer heat... he could never get enough of it.

She whimpered in surprise when he crushed her to his chest in a rib-cracking embrace and turned her on her back so that she lay beneath him. His weight pinned her down into the soft cushions, skin on skin, heart on heart. He entwined her hands in his, releasing her lips to let kisses rain down her face, the creamy pillar of her neck, her delicate collarbones and finally, the soft white curve of her breasts.

His knee parted her legs, gently but determinedly, he needed her so much, _oh so much_, and he needed her _now_. He smiled when she opened up for him and moaned with anticipation as she felt his hard length brush against her most sensitive spots, passionately arching her body to meet him. Slowly he pushed into her, stretching her, filling her, while he listened to the sweet little sounds that escaped her lips. The feeling of melting with her nearly overwhelmed him, like every time they made love. Finally... finally he was fully caught in her velvety tightness, and he wished he would never ever need to be anywhere else.

Her legs came up around his hips, drawing him deeper into her core, encouraging him for a harder pace, but he wanted this to be slow, tender, gentle - an expression of his love for her rather than a chase for the most lustful moments. Propped up on his elbows, slowly moving inside her, he watched her beloved face, his gaze drowning in her half-closed emerald eyes, but then she pulled his head down to kiss him fervently until bliss carried them both away.

Still panting heavily, he rolled on his back, taking her with him carefully so that he could remain inside her. He felt her heart race against his chest, relished the sensation of her closeness, her smooth skin, hot and damp from their love, and her soft long mane against his naked chest. Slowly, the nightmare's dread left him and he felt himself relax.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?", she breathed after a while, and he could hear the smile in her voice. His arms tightened around her while she lazily stroked his skin, playing with the light fleece of his chest hair.

"Not today", he smiled. Then he pulled her up and kissed her again. "Promise me to be careful today. Promise me you will stick to our plan. Promise me you will not get yourself killed. I could not stand to lose you", he whispered hoarsely after he released her lips, his amber gaze intense under the slight frown upon his brow. Thari lifted her hand, her nimble fingertips caressed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips.

"You will not lose me. Nobody will kill me as long as the formidable Commander of the Inquisition's army stands behind me", she replied earnestly. Then she drew a deep breath. "Oh well... the day dawns, and I think we should get going." She sighed. "Or they will all stand waiting for us - all the troups and the mages and the..."

"Do you think they'll march off without us?"

"No", she grinned.

"Then let them wait", Cullen whispered and rolled her on her back again, sending a silent prayer to the Maker that this would not be their last time.


End file.
